


What Could Have Been

by idelthoughts



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was always human connection that got him in the end.  The kindness, the love—it hurt more than any other pain he’d experienced, and yet he gravitated towards it, hungry for it, and it was no different now.</i>
</p><p>An AU of 1x08.  Henry and Iona aren't interrupted, and Henry gets the information he was looking for - and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Could Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> What if the taser wasn't missing, and the police hadn't shown up to arrest Iona? An AU take on what could have happened in Henry's visit to Iona Payne.

_In for a penny_ , he thought, swallowing hard.

Iona pulled out the short black wand and turned back to him. “This is the most likely tool used, if the killer was a professional. If not, could have been anything.”

“I see. Are these devices common?” he asked, striving to concoct any question that sounded like he was still interested in the didactic nature of this enterprise.

“Not terribly. There aren’t many manufacturers, so with a bit of effort you could probably trace the purchaser.”

She was close to him again, and he wasn’t able to keep his eyes off her hands and the menacing black wand with three metal prongs. She tapped it against her palm and looked him up and down. 

“Normally, he’d be shirtless.” She put the wand on the doctor’s table nearby and circled behind him. “But since I already have you in position, I’ll modify my approach.”

Warm hands pressed to the small of his back, and he sucked in a breath. 

“We can stop whenever you like,” she repeated. Her voice was calm and steady. “Any time you say.”

“No need,” he said. His voice was anything but.

She tugged at his shirt and pulled it free from his trousers, then circled around and worked the buttons of his waistcoat. By the time she started on his shirt buttons, he had to close his eyes to stop himself from trying to lean down and kiss her. He was certain the tilt of her head was calculated to encourage exactly this response, and he wasn’t quite ready to admit it was working as well as it was. When he’d reined in the instinct and opened his eyes again, her smile was sly and satisfied. He’d wager his thoughts were rather obvious right now.

“Electrocution sounds so harsh,” Iona said, finishing the last few buttons on his shirt. “But it can be very gentle.” She picked up the wand and showed it to him, pointing out the numbered wheel on the side. “On the lowest setting, it feels like this.”

She stepped close enough that her body was warm against his front. She reached around him, one hand lifting his shirt and the other pressing the cool metal nubs to his back, to the side and below his ribs. He braced himself, but the sensation was like a crawling tickle. The muscles twitched, responding to the pulsing low-level shock. More difficult to contend with was the feel of her body as she shifted against him, the soft rustle of cloth against cloth, and the light scent of perfume that wafted towards him. He looked up at the ceiling, silently counting prime numbers to distract himself. 

“As I up the setting, the sensation intensifies.”

A click, and the crawling feeling spread. Another click, and the muscles contracted. Another click, and it started to burn a little as his muscles twitched.

“Does it hurt?” she asked. 

“Not exactly,” he said. A click. It was more forceful now and drawing more of his attention, and he shuffled his feet. “Perhaps a little.”

“On a scale of one to ten.”

He looked down at her. She was watching his face carefully. He couldn’t help but laugh, though it was somewhat tense thanks to the burning, crawling sensation.

“My scale of one to ten might not be well correlated to this exercise,” he admitted. 

She cocked her head curiously. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

A click. He gasped, pressing forward to escape the shock, crushing himself against her body. She made an approving noise and put a hand on his chest, pushing him back down off his toes and back against the snapping, bullet-like electric shock.

“There we go,” she said. 

He grit his teeth. It wasn’t unbearable by any means, but it was certainly uncomfortable, focusing all his attention on his back.

And then it was gone. He sagged and his hands pulled at the cuffs. Before he could so much as draw a breath, a soft stroke from the hollow at the base of his neck down his chest to his belly button made him shiver, and all his attention spiralled back to Iona. She dragged her fingernails back up and rested the palm of her hand in the centre of his chest. He drew in a deep breath.

“The key is to work slowly,” she said. “If you rush it, your body doesn’t know what to do with the pain. Not until you’ve worked with it for a while, and then—“ she moved her hand across his chest, pushing open his shirt. “Then you know what to expect, and you anticipate it. Even need it.”

She settled her hand over his heart. He blinked in alarm and looked down at the same moment as she felt the scar beneath her palm. Her face change to concern, and then worry.

“What happened to you, Henry?”

It was much harder to pull back from her question this time, his heart beating hard under her hand, his shirt undone, and the endorphins running through his system from the shock.

She touched the scar tissue with her fingertips. It was still sensitive; it was as though the wound never fully moved past the early healing stages. He wanted to deflect her from the inspection, and he tried to bring his hands down to pull her from it before the cuffs stopped him. He grimaced in frustration, and then relaxed and decided to bear it. She glanced up at his face and removed her hand. 

“No is a valuable word, Henry. Use it when you need to.”

He frowned at her, confused. “My understanding was that in this sort of situation, you decide.”

She tapped him on the breastbone with a finger—avoiding the scar, he noted. “Common misconception. You have to help me know where the line is, and when I find it. And once we find it, then we get to push it. Together.”

He narrowed his eyes, searching her face. He wasn’t quite sure how she could be so calm, but she was. He felt a wave of gratitude towards her, and then blinked as he stepped back from it. Emotional manipulation—take the power away, then give it back as a gift, winning over his trust. A deft game. He gave her a wry half-smile and a formal nod, willing to concede her small victory. 

“I can see you are very good at your job.”

She nodded. “I am.” She patted his cheek, and then took hold of his jaw with a firm grip. “And now we push.”

It was all the warning he got. She pressed the wand to his back, and the intense snap of it brought him onto his toes again, arching away, but she didn’t let him escape it. His eyes widened and she held his head in place, not letting him look away. She was calm and steady. Determined. Grounding.

Another click, and this time he whimpered out loud, locked into her gaze. As soon as he made the noise, the shock was gone. He sagged, panting, staring into her warm brown eyes in confusion. She was gentle now as she stroked his jaw, soothing where she’d held him tightly. 

“Good, well done. See? You can do this.”

He was letting her hurt him. He was confused by the dichotomy of her causing him the pain as well as comforting him over it. They should be separate things, and yet they weren’t.

The pattern repeated. Pain, then her soothing touch and gentle praise. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath.

“It can hurt a lot more before there’s any damage, and it’s easy to know the signs. If you have the experience, that is.”

A tremor was starting in his arms from the tension and the strain of the pose and his pulling, and a trickle of sweat ran down his back between his shoulder blades.

“I think I understand,” he croaked. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Her hand was comforting as she stroked his neck. Calculated affection—it had to be—but it felt so real, and he leaned into it.

“Good. You’re doing so well.”

This time he cried out when the wand touched. He couldn’t help it.

It didn’t take him long to realize that it was her kindness that was doing this to him more than the pain; the soft comfort after every hard bite, again and again and again until his head was drooping on her shoulder, his body curling into hers with every shock, his breath ragged as she held his head, whispering reassurance in his ear.

The pain, and then the comfort. Why did she have to be so kind?

He’d known it was going to hurt, but not this kind of pain. Not the pain that filled his chest and his head, that sucked him down into the roots of his loneliness and fear, prying open a door he tried to keep closed. It rattled and strained every time his body sagged against her, every time she held him tenderly and promised he was safe with her, and every time he believed her a little more.

It was always human connection that got him in the end. The kindness, the love—it hurt more than any other pain he’d experienced, and yet he gravitated towards it, hungry for it, and it was no different now. He gasped again, wrenching at his hands and wishing he could cling to her, and she shushed him, soft and gentle, and then the pain. Always the pain. It would never end any differently, no matter how many times he tried, but he couldn’t stop trying, why couldn’t he stop? The futility of it brought tears to his eyes.

“Please,” he finally begged, “please, please stop, I can’t. I can’t.”

She held him as he shook, face pressed to her shoulder. She had a sure and steady hold. “You’re safe, Henry. I won’t hurt you like they did. You’re safe.”

He wanted to believe her. Maybe in that moment he did.

He slowly relaxed as her caring hands moved over his back instead of the stunning, burning shock, and her hair was soft and fragrant when he shifted to turn his face into the hollow of her neck. It took some minutes before he could lift his head. Even the dim lights were over bright. He squinted at her, grateful when he met her eyes and saw the safety there.

Her eyes trailed downward. She was watching his mouth again, head tilted just so, and this time he did dip his head towards her, unable to resist. When she didn’t rise to meet him he stopped, remembering himself in time. 

“Sorry,” he said, deeply confused, his chest hurting. “I didn’t—“

“It’s alright. It happens.” She looked away from him, and then with a last glance at the scar on his chest, half-exposed by the drape of his shirt, she tugged the cloth back together and started to button it.

He looked down, watching her fingers. “What are you doing?”

“Professional demonstration at an end, Doctor.”

He wanted to protest, and then clamped his mouth shut. He wouldn’t say it aloud. Bad enough that in the privacy of his mind he had to admit she was right—he didn’t want her to stop. The world was reasserting itself already, and he wasn’t prepared. He felt painfully exposed as she gently fixed his clothes.

Shirt and waistcoat buttoned, she stretched up to uncuff his hand, her body rubbing against him, and he had to look away as she freed the one and reached for the next. Throughout the release she kept a hand on him in some way, a grounding touch, and when he was loose she directed him towards the office, urging him to sit on the couch.

His legs and arms were trembling, he realized. She left him long enough to fetch him a glass of water, and then sat by him, a hand on his knee as he downed the water gratefully. 

“Alright?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said with a fast nod. 

Though it wasn’t true. He couldn’t stop watching her. He was rattled off his steady foundation, and her calm was like a magnet.

“You don’t trust easily, do you?”

“Best not to.“ The words were out his mouth before he even thought about it, and he cleared his throat, ducking his head.

“I see.” She curled a hand around his bicep and tugged. “Henry? Come here.”

He let her pull him down, and at her urging lay his head on her lap. She stroked his forehead and hair, and ran a finger around his ear in a pattern, until he started to relax again. He calmed beneath her repetitive touch, and she hummed some melody quietly, soft enough he couldn’t catch the thread of it. The flush of peace and wellbeing was confusing, but pleasing all the same, and his eyes drifted closed. 

He might have dozed; he wasn’t certain. After a time he lifted his head and sat up. Iona was steady, as always, and he wasn’t sure what to say, stuck in silence. She seemed to understand and sat with him quietly to allow him time to collect himself. 

When Iona stood, he took the cue and did the same. She offered him her hand to shake, and he took it. She had a firm grip.

“I hope I’ve answered your questions,” she said.

He’d forgotten all about his questions. She smiled, seeming to know his thoughts again. 

“Yes, thank you,” he murmured, not having the energy to invest much in his words. “I hope I can consult you again in the future.”

She shook her head. “Not in my professional capacity, I’m afraid.”

He hesitated, a tightening in his chest making him feel awkward and foolish, and more than a little embarrassed. His face was still tight and puffy from tears he hadn’t been able to stop, and he looked away from her. “I see. I’m sorry if I imposed on you.” 

She held tight to his hand and didn’t let him pull it away.

“Not at all. It was a pleasure. But you’re far too attractive, Dr. Morgan. If I see you again, I’d prefer it was in a personal capacity. After this, you’d be a client, and I don’t want to test my professional boundaries with you any further. That’s an unpleasant road.”

Her hand was warm in his, and he groped for a response, in the end chuckling softly. “Well, perhaps dinner would be a more appropriate setting for our next encounter.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure it would be.”

Her implication made him flush, thinking of her body pressed against him, and the electric shock that stung and forced him against her. He licked his lips, trying to bring himself back from the memory.

She released his hand and took a step back, smiling. “Goodnight, Doctor. You know where to reach me. For dinner, or whatever else we can think of. Thank you for stopping by.”

He nodded, and after another glance at her, he said his goodbyes and left.

His step was light and his thoughts restful and easy on the way home, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

**Author's Note:**

> I've probably wandered into territory I don't understand terribly well, but I'm going to cross my fingers and hope that if my interpretation is way off base, at least it's giggle-worthy and not offensive.


End file.
